


Vivisected

by PoeticallyIrritating



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Erotic cannibalism, F/F, but like...metaphorically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-19 21:23:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15518862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoeticallyIrritating/pseuds/PoeticallyIrritating
Summary: You dream about slicing her open.It's about lust, both blood and regular.





	Vivisected

**Author's Note:**

> Is it short? Yes. Did I have a good time and break out some shit I learned in AP Euro in 2011 so I could make pretentious references? Also yes.
> 
> Warnings for gore (imaginary but still somewhat descriptive) and sexual content.

You don’t touch yourself anymore.

Maybe you are like Freud’s conception of da Vinci. Sublimation of sexual desire into innovation, into creative genius. Hunger is hunger is hunger; by any other name...and so on.

Or maybe it would just be too easy.

You let women put their mouths on you, but mostly it’s so you don’t have to look at them. Their faces are all wrong. You are the best faker in the world, and you spasm underneath them and let out a picture-perfect broken cry.

 _I’ve never made a woman come before,_ says a shy one with boyish hair, and you don’t tell her that she still hasn’t. Instead you kiss your own taste from her lips, and you crook your lips into a smile like the two of you share a joyful secret.

She leaves blushing. You could crush her—she’s fragile still, her fledgeling bird-boned confidence—but you don’t.

Alone in bed you picture _her_ laid before you: a column of pale flesh, hair spread out like an inky halo. The way her chest would rise and fall, muscles in her neck jutting out sharp. (Sternocleidomastoids. Cut them, and the head flops like a dead fish.) How her body would grow violin-string taut. If you close your eyes, the breath of a quiet lover sounds like suffocation.

You think you would like to hear her laugh.

Asleep, you dream about slicing her down the middle, sternum to pelvis. She blooms underneath you. Your hands are slippery with blood. In real life you would have to cut through the diaphragm to reach inside the ribcage, but in the dream there’s no barrier; it’s just you and your hands, wrapping your fingers around the heart and tearing it free, trailing blood vessels.

You wake as your dream-self sinks in her teeth.

Your sheets are damp and you throw them off and step outside into the night—quiet, dark, a new moon and a burned-out street light. The stars encircle you; you are Ptolemy, arms outstretched. The center of the universe.

You think about her. What she might be doing. She’s at home tonight, and you wish you had gone to see her: you picture the way she sputtered under the faucet. The dress you bought slipping off her damp shoulders.

You are not a doctor but you are intimately familiar with death, and think you would like to take her to the edge. You would like to bring her back to life.

Tonight you wish you were God, so that you could have created her.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I have never dissected a human being before, but I have dissected a reasonable number of mice.
> 
> Shoutout to the creepy assholes who I used for research, including:
> 
>   * Freud, whose very bizarre psychoanalysis of da Vinci is available from the Gutenberg project.
>   * Ptolemy, who is referenced because of the geocentrism thing, in case that wasn't clear. I don't actually know if he was an asshole but the odds are probably good.
>   * The guy who made a YouTube video talking about what would happen if you cut someone's sternocleidomastoid while slicing a hanging bag of chicken.
> 



End file.
